


Reconciliation

by kseda



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fun With Painkillers, M/M, Made-Up Ozian Swearing, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:37:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kseda/pseuds/kseda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ambrose thinks his brain's been fixed, Cain thinks it's beyond repair. With any luck they're both wrong</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconciliation

Ambrose was upside down. 

He knew this because of the head rush, and the way his knees were folded up and his arms flailed. Whatever was holding him up dug into his shoulder and pressed tight to his chest. 

"That's bizarre," he remarked weakly. A soft grunt came in reply, and he opened his eyes. 

He was in a car, and the car was upside down. A seatbelt was holding him in place, which was fortuitous given what he thought he was seeing in front of him. Gingerly Ambrose lowered (or rather raised) his feet so they touched the floor (ceiling), and he was going to stop mentally inverting things because he had a more pressing problem to deal with. 

Wedged between the roof and the dash, his back to the cracked windshield, was Wyatt Cain. 

Ambrose marveled at this spectacle, then gasped as he remembered the long drive to his family's home, Cain's reluctant offer to escort him as apparently he could not be trusted not to get lost while driving _home_. Then there had been the winding mountain roads of the west country, then the gump, and Cain's swerve to avoid it which had sent them down the slope, and everything had flipped and gone black. 

With trepidation Ambrose cleared his throat. "You'd best not be dead, Mr.Cain." 

Cain winced. "Glitch?" 

"Ambrose, thank you," Ambrose replied tersely, but smiled nonetheless. "Don't move, I'm going to try and get out of here." 

"What happened?" Cain asked and slowly opened his eyes, only to blink in astonishment. "And which way's up?" 

Ambrose pointed towards the floor. "You managed to spectacularly flip the car." He twisted as best he could so his legs were parallel to the roof, released the seatbelt, and eased himself down. "That's better. I have no idea how you didn't go through the windshield, I told you to buckle up." 

"I'm lucky," Cain replied with a questionable amount of sarcasm. 

With a snort Amborse shook his head, then yanked on the handle and shoved the door open. He crawled out and got to his feet, grimacing in pain from various little cuts and bruises. 

As Ambrose brushed himself off he assessed the situation. They were in a wooded area, the vehicle's downward progress halted by a dense thicket. The slope back to the road was steep but not impassable, and the car's slide had cut a handy path through the underbrush for them. All they had to do was climb to the road, flag down a passing motorist, and they'd be regaling his brother's children with another harrowing tale in no time. 

They'd have to move quickly, as by the fading light sunsset was not far off. Ambrose crouched beside the car and peered at his companion. "All right, Mr. Cain, I have a plan but it involves a little hiking. Are you up for it?" 

"No," Cain said firmly. His eyes had closed again and he looked decidedly pale. 

Ambrose frowned. "Well, let's at least get you out of the car and then we can see about up the hill. One step at a time, right?" 

"I don't think I can," Cain said. 

"There's your problem. Leave the thinking to me, you just do. And because I'm a good sport I'll give you a hand." 

He gave two hands actually, one on Cain's shoulder and the other on his hip, and on three he gently helped roll Cain forward. The action was accompanied by a gasp of horror from Ambrose and a cry of pain from Cain. 

Ambrose swallowed thickly. "Well, you may not have gone through the windshield but it did a nice job of...trying to..." 

"Go through me?" Cain offered. He turned his head and tried looking up at Ambrose. "How bad is it?" 

Ambrose raised his eyebrows. When the glass broke it had done so inward from the impact with the bushes, and Cain's shoulders and back were a bloody mess. At least three of the shards were still protruding through his shirt and Ambrose had to promise himself he was not going to throw up. 

"It looks bad," he began, because a good adviser told the truth no matter how awful it was. "But it might only _look_ bad, it could all be superficial. Still it looks like it hurts a hell of a lot." 

Cain nodded slowly. "That's one way of putting it." 

"Right. All right, I am going to get the blanket and aid kit from the trunk, and then we're going to get you out of there, and..." 

He kept on babbling as he worked, a habit which in the past had driven off more than one lab assistant. It was his way of organizing thoughts, and had been immensely therapeutic after the brain restoration surgery. Cain usually wore a particularly pained expression and tended to politely but firmly ask him to _please_ shut up, but he was in no position to do so at the moment. 

The trunk's contents naturally tumbled out once it was opened, and Ambrose made a crack about being glad he hadn't packed anything fragile as he picked up the case of first aid supplies and the large flannel blanket. A thought struck him and he opened his suitcase to retrieve his toolkit. He returned to the side of the car and started spreading out the blanket. 

"...so I think if I pull from under your arms and you push with your feet we can get you out, and then I can probably patch you up. No, not probably, definitely. I know we can do this." 

Cain's expression was caught somewhere between doubtful and agonized. "Well, since you insist." 

"I do," Ambrose replied and crouched in front of him. "We'll do it in one go, okay? Can you get up on your elbows at all?" 

Cain grimaced but complied, gripping Ambrose's biceps as Ambrose took hold under his armpits, then on the count of three they pushed and pulled and in short order Cain was sprawled on the blanket and swearing a blue streak. 

"Godsdamned pumpkinheaded son of a munchkin whore!" 

Ambrose blinked, impressed. "You're welcome?" 

Cain folded his arms under himself and shook his head. "Great. Thanks. Now what?" 

"Minor surgery," Ambrose replied and opened the aid kit. "I can give you my belt to gnaw on or..." He trailed off and held up a pill bottle with a whistle. "Or you can have same of the stuff they gave me after they put my brain back." 

"Drugs," Cain said immediately. "Drugs'll be great." 

The pills were administered, and Ambrose prepped to clean and bandage the wounds. He took scissors and tweezers from his toolkit and set about getting Cain's shirt off, cutting around the pieces of glass then down the length so he could peel it away. That done, Ambrose whooshed a sigh and shook his head. 

"You're a mess." 

"And you have lousy bedside manners," Cain shot back. "Get on with it, and no running commentary." 

Ambrose set his mouth in a firm line, took hold of the tweezers and began. There was a grunt or curse from Cain as each shard was removed but he managed to keep still. Most of the cuts were short and superficial, however a few would likely require stitches. Ambrose had no experience with suturing and no desire to go trial and error now. He'd leave that to Julian, who had ended up as a doctor like their father.

He settled for washing away the blood and applying antiseptic, which Cain mysteriously had no comment on. "Are you all right?" 

"I think so," Cain replied. "S'funny, I know it's supposed to hurt but I don't care." 

"Welcome to the wonderful wizardry of auziflin," Ambrose said with a grin. "Apathy is one of the side effects, you'll care in about twelve hours but since you don't now you're going to sit up so I can get you bandaged." 

Together they managed to get Cain upright, legs akimbo and forearms resting on his knees in a pose that coupled with his blissful expression could have been meditative. Ambrose concentrated on how best to arrange the gauze pads and strips of bandage. As he was taping the ends of the dressings down along Cain's ribs the man twitched with a snort. 

"Try and hold still, please." 

"I can't," Cain replied. "You know I'm ticklish." 

Ambrose froze. "No, actually I didn't know that." 

"Oh," Cain said quietly. 

"Don't worry about it," Ambrose muttered. "I'm going to get you another shirt. Stay put." 

He grabbed a button-down shirt from Cain's suitcase and found himself helping put it on, as Cain seemed a bit dumbfounded by the process. The buttons were tricky but soon everything was in order, and Ambrose was began to move away but stopped when Cain suddenly slumped forward and rest his brow on his shoulder. 

"Thank you, Ambrose," he sighed. "I think I owe you another one." 

Uncertain, Ambrose patted his arm. "I should be thanking you. If you hadn't ended up where you did it likely would have been my face full of glass." 

"Couldn't have that," Cain concluded. "I guess you're lucky too." With that he turned his face to nuzzle Ambrose's neck, a brief meeting of lips to a pulse point. 

Ambrose tensed, his brain chattering countless responses to itself. He settled for taking firm hold of Cain's upper arms and gently pushing him away. They stared at each other for a few moments, one bewildered, the other perfectly steady, until finally Ambrose sighed. 

"All right," he began. "I know you're a bit stoned at the moment, but you need to remember that we settled this a long time ago." 

Cain gave him a look that spoke of betrayal. "You mean _you_ settled it." 

"Close enough," Ambrose told him and gave his arms a squeeze. "Now don't say anything else you'll only deny later." He got to his feet and looked up the hillside once more. Twilight had settled, but he still had to get back to the road. "Right," he said with a single nod. "I'm going to climb up there and see about getting help. Jules will probably send some sort of search party and I can lead them here." 

"Not if you fall and break your leg in the dark." 

Ambrose felt his patience fray another iota as he moved to open the car's back door. Cain turned to watch him. "Then I'll take the lantern." He got on his hands and knees and started rummaging around the inverted backseat for the electric lamp. 

"You can't carry it and climb," Cain pointed out. Ambrose curled his lip and reached under the front seat. "What if you need that hand...to..." 

"What?" Ambrose asked and scooted back to look over his shoulder. Cain was decidedly not looking at his face, so Ambrose cleared his throat to try and regain his attention. "I might that hand to-" 

"Break your fall," Cain said. He blinked and shook his head. "I don't remember you being this goofy on this stuff." 

Ambrose shook his head. "I was a bit preoccupied, I believe," he remarked and returned to his search, emerging successfully a moment later. He straightened up and turned the lamp on. "There, now I'll just-" 

"Don't leave," Cain pleaded. "If they look they'll find us, they don't need a guide." 

He looked pale in the lantern light, Ambrose thought, somehow stubborn and fragile at once. There would be no prevailing here, as from his experience there was no winning an argument with Cain, so he would just have to take action and make the climb. He had to, more than anything Ambrose needed a bath and a proper bed, he'd spent more than his share of nights sleeping outdoors. 

Not that he could remember a single one of them. 

"They might miss us," Ambrose said. 

"Maybe they won't," Cain countered. He eased himself down to lay on his side. "We'll build a fire, that'll get their attention. We've got supplies, we'll just make camp." 

"I don't want-" 

"What if you're not here to keep me from wandering into the woods after pixies?" 

Which, given his present state, was a distinct possibility. Ambrose cast one more look of longing up the hillside, then heaved a sigh and nodded. "Fine, I'll stay. And build a fire, and see what can be done for food. You just...let me know if you see any pixies." 

He gathered firewood and humored Cain by following his somewhat rambling directions on how best to stack it, then set it ablaze with a flick from his toolkit's lighter. Soon they had a cheerful fire going to ward off the gloom. Dinner came from the care package of Central luxury goods that were still rare in the edgelands, patte and crackers, bottles of flavored sparkling water. Ambrose refused to touch the candy meant for his niece and nephews but was sure his brother wouldn't begrudge him a sampling of brandy. 

Ambrose ate an apple and struggled to ignore the vault of stars, the stray sounds of the forest, and the sense that he was being watched. Difficult, as he _knew_ he was. Finally he discarded the core and turned to regard Cain in return. 

"Are we going to try settling it again?" 

Cain was back on his side after sitting up to eat, somewhat cushioned by his folded coat. He blinked and shook his head. "No. I was just thinking." 

"Unwise," Ambrose said, but his opinion was ignored. 

"Just now, how you were sitting there. It just reminded me of - nevermind." 

Ambrose laughed, brief and bitter. "Oh, no, go on. I was reminding you of him, right?" 

"No," Cain said and scowled. "You reminded me of _you_." 

"So we are settling it," Ambrose declared. He shifted around to face Cain, his back to the fire. "Excellent time for it, you addled by painkillers and me distressed by my environment, why not?" 

Cain tried pushing himself up again, but winced and had to resettle. "Listen, I'm sorry, it's just...you made a promise." 

With a groan Ambrose buried his face in his hands. "Gods, this? Again?" He dropped his hands and leaned in to speak slowly and carefully. "Mr. Cain, I am sorry, but once again: I did not make that promise." 

Quiet enveloped the woods again, save for the crack of the fire and the hush of small things hiding from bigger things. That was how the discussion ended, that was what passed for closure. Usually. 

"No, I'm pretty sure it was you." 

Ambrose glared. "I assure you-" 

"It was your voice," Cain continued. "Your voice, using your breath, under the direction of part of your brain. _You_ promised me, Ambrose." 

For a few moments Ambrose was stunned speechless. His mouth hung open and he shook his head. "That's...that's a tremendous leap in logic." 

"I kinda thought it was pretty straightforward," Cain said, then nodded. "Go ahead, say I'm wrong." 

"Your basic premise is faulty," Ambrose snapped. "Part of my brain you said, part, not the whole. Whatever that part contributed is irrelevant to the discussion. It'd be like if I got you to sign a contract now and tried to hold you to it tomorrow." He folded his arms across his torso. "In the morning, when the drug wears off, you're going to be furious at yourself. We've moved so far beyond this." 

Cain closed his eyes. "I can't-" 

"Listen to me. What happened was not my fault, it was not the intended outcome. Remember I've lost almost a quarter of my life and and more besides, but I've come to terms with it." Ambrose pressed his lips together and sighed through his nose. "I'm not getting those memories back." 

"Maybe you will," Cain ventured quietly. "It might just need a little more time." 

"It's been nearly three annuals, I've recovered as much as I'm going to. Nothing has changed, and I...you can't wait around forever hoping for Glitch to come back. He's gone." 

Cain made an impatient, disagreeing noise even as he rearranged himself to rest his head on the makeshift pillow. "You never went anywhere, you're right here." 

The fire crackled, and Ambrose was left to rub the scar on his head and once again try to find anything to fill the gap in his memory, as a favor to a friend. As usual there was his early life in perfect order, his duties, the war, and Raynz looming over him. Then, like a badly spliced video, he woke up confused but intact to a smiling medic, and things progressed as normal. No therapy, no medicines, no magic, no Viewer readings or meditations had been able to bring light to interceding annuals. 

"That's not how it works," Ambrose said at last, not unkindly. "I am so sorry, Mr. Cain, but I can't be what I don't remember." 

"He never gave up trying to be you," Cain muttered. 

A sad, rueful smile came in response. "Well, I've heard he was twice as brave as I am so that sounds about right." He looked skyward and named a dozen stars before continuing. "It'd be best if you slept. Tomorrow is bound to be a long day." 

Cain's retort was muffled, but sleep soon claimed him. Ambrose stayed awake for a while longer, not sure if he could rest now. Every noise was foreign to him, and the flickering shadows did nothing but fuel his imagination. The woods were filled with unhappy ghosts, none the least of which was his own. 

With luck Cain would forget the entire discussion. They had tried building a relationship (or picking up where they'd left off, depending on how one looked at it) but something was missing. Added. Not right. It had been a brief and awkward attempt which ended as amicably as it could, and they carried on as casual friends. The water had long since passed under the bridge and vanished into the desert as far as Ambrose was concerned, and he'd assumed the same held true for Cain.

There was an adage about assuming things, and he was fairly certain it applied in this instance. 

Eventually he did lay down beside Cain, head supported by his own folded jacket, and in spite of his apprehensions he did sleep. When he dreamed, it was of snow. 

* 

Ambrose woke not long after dawn, first disorientated by his surroundings, then confused as to why the blanket had been folded over him, then alarmed to realize Cain was gone. He sat up abruptly, taking in the overturned car, the banked fire, the sunslight catching an elaborate spider's web slung between two trees, but no sign of his companion. 

"Cain?" he called. Gods, if he had wandered off there was almost no way he'd find him. Riding a wave of unexpectedly sharp panic Amborse flailed his way out of the blanket and gained his feet. "Mr. Cain!" 

"Right here," came the reply from behind him, and Ambrose spun to witness Cain emerge from the woods. His gait was unsteady and he looked to be in pain, and his scowl only deepened when he locked eyes with the adviser.

Internally, Ambrose cringed. Apparently selective amnesia wasn't catching. Best not to bring it up. "Where did you-"

"Business trip," Cain replied. With few options he settled for sitting on the rear bumper. "I can recommend a tree for you, or take your pick."

"Your deliberate uncouthness has been noted," Ambrose stated. He stooped to grab his jacket and tossed it toward the car, where it landed draped over a tire.

"There's a stream a little way down if you want to wash up, too."

"How convenient." He picked up the blanket to shake it out, then started folding. "And, ah, thank you for..." He trailed off and waved the blanket.

"You were shivering, figured you'd appreciate it," Cain said with a shrug, then winced when the motion pulled at his cuts.

Ambrose blinked, then strode to the car intent on fetching the aid kit. "Is it bad? Would you like another-"

"Gods, no," Cain said sharply and held up his hands to ward Ambrose off. "Never, ever again."

"Maybe half a dose-"

"No. It's really not that bad, just aggravating."

There were layers to that statement and Ambrose bit his lip as he recognized them. He stepped back, relenting. "I understand."

"You usually do," Cain said, and it was probably a trick of the morning light but for an instant it looked like he smiled.

Taking that as a sign that the status quo had been restored Ambrose offered a single firm nod and a sunny grin before excusing himself, the overborne unease he'd felt since waking lifted.

*

In the midst of an argument over their next course of action (Cain claimed he was perfectly capable of climbing the hill; Ambrose balked at the suggestion) they were interrupted by the arrival of a rescue party which included Ambrose's brother.

"Who can I make fun of for this?" Julian asked as he surveyed the wreck. He was younger than Ambrose by nearly a dozen annuals and looked more like their mother, with more rounded features and an auburn cast to his thick hair. His smile was familiar and teasing, though.

"My fault," Cain sighed. "Tried to swerve around a gump."

"In that case I shall not mock you, sir," Julian replied solemnly. "It's bad luck to hit a gump."

Ambrose wanted to know exactly what was lucky about getting into an accident with one of the palace cars which had _not_ been retrofitted with safety glass and then being stuck spending the night outdoors. He held his tongue, however, because at last they were going home.

Like many of the homes abandoned during the war the villa had been restored, and while it lacked the grandeur it had had during their grandmother's time it was a fair sight better than when Julian reclaimed it. He'd spent the Witch's reign as a medic in the Resistance, returning home with his wife and two sons once the Queen was reinstated. Their daughter was born nearly an annual later, one of thousands who had come to be known as "children of the Eclipse," the generation that would fully restore the realm.

Once the party made it back to the house Julian checked over Cain's wounds, and while a couple did require stitches it was determined that Ambrose's efforts had been sound even with his overzealous administration of painkillers. Once Cain had settled in to rest Julian turned his attention to his brother. 

"Honestly, I'm fine," Ambrose protested as Jules directed him to a kitchen chair. "Just some bruising from the seat belt."

Julian shook his head. "I just want to do a few tests to be on the safe side, given your brain's history."

It was hard to argue with that. He successfully followed a moving finger with his eyes, recited the alphabet backwards, and his reflexes fell into the accepted range for someone of his "advanced age."

"Insufferable child."

"Buzzard beak."

*

After lunch everyone gathered in a sitting room, where Ambrose told the heavily edited version of the previous night's harrowing adventure. Cain countered with a retelling of the first time Ambrose had saved his life. He was seated on the edge of the sofa, the boys Robert and Eliot to either side while Victoria sat with her parents. Ambrose took an armchair by the empty fireplace and only half-listened to the tale he'd heard so often but held no recollection of.

This time, though, he could actually picture the Northern Palace encased in ice, the great hall cold, dark and empty rather than bustling. The bright colors of the wagon manifested themselves, as did the sharp smell of incense. Ambrose closed his eyes, unsure if he was trying to ward the images off or bring them into focus.

"So I'm thinking 'that's it, it's hopeless', and he snaps at me for being pessimistic," Cain said with a shake of his head. "I'm sure he's kidding so I tell him I'm just balancing out his enthusiasm."

"Somebody's got to keep your wide-eyed optimism in check."

The words bypassed Ambrose's brain on the way out of his mouth, giving him such a start his eyes popped open. He found everyone staring at him, especially Cain, who looked to have paled a number of shades.

"What was that?" Cain asked.

Ambrose frowned and shook his head. "I said...what you said. It was wide-eyed optimism, not enthusiasm."

"Well then," Julian remarked, a grin alighting on his face. "How about that, you do remember."

"No!" Ambrose snapped and clambered to his feet. He looked straight at Cain. "No, I don't. I've just heard this story enough times to have it memorized." His smile was crooked as he sighed. "I'm sorry, I must still be recovering from last night's ordeal. I'll just step out for some air."

His retreat through the house was swift and sure, giving him an ample lead over whoever may follow him. Hopefully it would give him enough time to come up with an explanation that would satisfy himself. The simplest answer, that he had merely remembered something, was quickly denied. Easy did not mean correct, it was entirely possible that he really had heard it enough to fuel his vivid imagination.

That was it, Ambrose concluded and stepped out onto the courtyard. He had imagined what remembering would be like, that made sense. Julian and Hillary would accept it, the issue would be with-

"I'd have thought you had your fill of fresh air," Cain called from behind him.

Ambrose grimaced, but turned to address him nevertheless. "It's possible I've grown accustomed to it."

He was dismissed with a flick of Cain's eyebrows. "So what happened back there?"

"Nothing," Ambrose replied and shook his head. "It's like I said, I memorized the-"

"I don't remember saying that," Cain told him and took a couple of steps closer. "I was concussed and hypothermic, I got my version from _you_."

For a moment Ambrose gaped at him. "So how do you know..."

"I don't," Cain said with a little half smile. "But doesn't it sound like something I'd say?"

Ambrose nodded, then shook his head again. He felt strange, like something was pushing him out, there was a rushing sound in his ears and his vision was going gray at the edges. "I-" he said and blinked. There were two Cains before him now, both looking concerned. "I."

"Ambrose?" Cain asked and grasped his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

Before he could respond, his eyes rolled back and he started to seize.

*

It was all there - _how had it all been there?_ \- and Ambrose (what? yes) was going to drown in it. Cold and hot and starving and alone, always alone except for those terrible, terrible- no, not now, those wonderful people who helped him. They were all strangers, though, and he needed someone familiar, someone to latch on to.

Goodness that cage had been high up, they'd had to tie him so he wouldn't hurt himself in his panic. Bless DG for showing him to be brave, no one survived by waiting around for...oh. Cain had, and Raw had (not that Raw had wanted to and that's awful, why hadn't he seen it) but none of them did any waiting after that.

"Professional psychiatric therapy is only a crow's call away" and "It wasn't the greatest sacrifice..." and "My name isn't Glitch" but it was, it WAS, and then _after_ that's who Cain had settled for. No, more than that, so much more more, they'd held each other together.

Held each other.

_He'd seen Cain cry more than once, more than a few times even. This was different, he'd almost collapsed and would have if Glitch hadn't caught him._

_"What is it?" he asked when they settled on the floor. Cain clung to him tightly and shuddered as he wept. "Cain, I- what? I thought you'd be happy."_

_Oh yes, he'd decided to have his brain put back, or at least try it. The surgeons and princesses were confident, even Raw approved. Why was Cain so upset?_

_"I'm scared," Cain finally managed. He did not look up so Glitch rest his cheek on his head and stroked his back, waiting for more. "I mean, it could go wrong, really wrong, you could d-"_

_Cain couldn't finish, but Glitch was ale to fill in the blanks. "No, no, they won't let me die. I promise I won't die," Glitch said, as though the idea were silly._

_Finally Cain raised his head, and Glitch was fascinated by the flecks of darker blue in his eyes._

_"What if you're different?" he asked, and his fingers slid between the buttons of Glitch's shirt to touch skin. "What if you don't remember?"_

_Glitch kissed his cheek, then pressed their foreheads together. "I promise, Wyatt, I will not forget a thing. It's impossible to forget love, you know."_

Only he had - _I'm so sorry_ \- but there it was, exuberant love and passion and it twined with the genuine fondness and comradery that Ambrose had fostered all on his own. He had to tell him, apologize and tell him and beg for time, all the time in the world. So much wasted and more was slipping away now and he had to open his eyes.

*

Cain was upside down.

Immediately Ambrose knew this perception was false, obviously Cain was leaning over him, which meant he was laying down. That was all right, given how badly his head hurt he'd rather not be standing. Much better to be laying on a nice, soft bed while Cain looked after him-

Wait. What happened to the courtyard?

"Julian?" Cain called and moved out of the way. "He's awake." Ambrose scowled in disappointment when his brother took Cain's place.

"Now now, no need to make a face," Julian chided. "See? I knew your brain got rattled around in there, it might be a small bleed or-"

"It wasn't," Ambrose snapped. "Can I get up?"

Jules snorted. "No. I want you laying down in case it happens again."

"It won't."

"As the doctor in the family-"

"Fine, but can we at least get me turned the right way?" He'd figured out he was set down across the bed with his feet dangling, most undignified.

"All right, your highness," Julian drawled, and with a little assistance from Cain got Ambrose situated with his head on the pillows. "Now, you're to rest, and I'll call your neurologist in the city, get her opinion."

Ambrose nodded; he'd have to talk to her anyway, may as well get the ball rolling. "Very well. I'll stay here and Mr. Cain can keep an eye on me."

Cain blinked, startled, but Ambrose gave him a pathetic look calculated to win him over and he nodded in agreement. Once Julian left he sighed and shook his head at Ambrose. "You scared the hell out of me. That hasn't happened before, has it?"

"No," Ambrose replied, still staring at him. "I think it only needed to happen once." He moved to sit up, and waved Cain off when he went to stop him. "No, no- wait, actually? Yes, come here, sit."

So Ambrose propped himself up with pillows and Cain dutifully (if skeptically) perched on the edge of the bed. This had them both comfortably at eye level, and Ambrose got to gawk to his heart's content. A smile creeped across his face as he took in details he'd glossed over not an hour ago. There were the darker blue flecks in Cain's eyes, the tiny scar on his lip, the strands of white barely distinguishable from the rest of his pale hair. Actually now that Ambrose thought of it he noticed that his hairline was receding, and he snickered.

Finally fed up with the scrutiny, Cain narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You're gonna be bald, tin man," Ambrose crowed gleefully. "But it's okay, I liked you better with the hat. I miss it, by the way."

Cain frowned in response. "I haven't worn a hat in annuals."

"I know!" Ambrose said. "I know, I really know." He was giddy with the certainty of it and leaned forward, settled a hand on the back of Cain's neck, and kissed him right on the mouth. Immediately Cain drew back. 

"Why-"

"I'm sorry," Ambrose murmured, and deliberately pressed his forehead to Cain's. "I don't know how it happened, but it's all come back, you were right, and I'm sorry."

Cain gingerly took hold of his shoulders and pushed him away enough to look at him, and Ambrose smiled to be on the receiving end of the careful study.

"Glitch?" Cain asked, uncertain.

The smile increased until Ambrose's nose crinkled, but he shook his head. "Still Ambrose, thanks. No, actually we're the same person but you already figured that out. I've just got a reliable continuity now." He tilted his head. "At least I hope it's reliable because a few of these memories are intriguingly explicit."

"Oh," Cain managed, and stopped being flabbergasted long enough to blush. "I'm not sure how I feel about that."

Ambrose shook his head. "I also remember plying you with muglug when you were sick, and how you found me after I wandered off into Central for three days, and how we got inappropriately drunk at DG's birthday party. And all of the grand adventure. I remember when I first laid eyes on you."

Silence that was equal parts awkward and expectant settled briefly.

"It wasn't one of my finer moments," Cain said at last.

"Mine either," Ambrose agreed with a faint smile. "Good thing we both clean up amazingly well."

Cain sighed. "So do we start over again?"

"I'm afraid so," Ambrose said with a nod. "If you'll let me, of course. You don't have to tell me now." 

For a moment all of Cain's sorrows were evident in every line of his face, and each possible outcome for his decision played out behind his eyes. "Say I won't regret this."

"You won't regre-" He never got to finish because suddenly Cain was kissing him, hard, _just like he used to_ and Ambrose could barely stand the rightness of it, nor his crushing disappointment when it ended. "You are a cruel tease, Wyatt Cain, I've always thought so."

"Sorry," Cain murmured. "I'm just being careful."

Ambrose nodded, resigned. "I understand. I know it's a lot to ask, for you to trust me again after everything."

"It's not that. All right, some of it's that." Cain smiled ruefully. "Mostly I don't want to get carried away and pull my stitches."

"Pfft," Ambrose declared, a bit Glitchily. He scooted over to provide more space. "Jules'll fix you up."

Carefully, Cain laid down beside him. "And what kind of guest does that make me?"

"Mine!" Ambrose insisted with a grin and gave him another quick kiss. "From now on you're mine, no more interruptions. We'll tell them that we have decided never to be parted in the future, we'll summer in a chalet in Finaqua and winter in your house in Central. Spring and fall they'll just have to hunt for us."

Cain snorted, rest his head on Ambrose's shoulder and slung an arm around his waist. "Sounds like you've been planning this, sweetheart."

"Oh, I was," Ambrose assured him and nuzzled his hair. "I just forgot to tell you."

"For what it's worth I think it's a good idea. We're lucky you remembered."

"Yeah. Good thing you missed that gump."

_~Fin~_


End file.
